"Fuck! No,hold him—"
I want a way
"That's an order, Agent Holder. Put your gun downnow."
You don’t want to go back to Obsidian Inc. Fine. But what else?
I can't. I can't. I can't.
I'm not sorry
This is.
Brother
This is.
Guilt is for—
Please.
Dan
CHAPTER SEVEN
JACK
When I wake up, it takes me about ten seconds to figure out three very important things. One, I went into psycho mode on Snow. Two, I'm handcuffed to a hospital bed. Three, I am about three point five seconds away from headbutting the arsehole who'sleaning over me.
The point five is my attempt at civility.
My body feels weak, which means I've probably been drugged more than once. It takes a lot to bring a Liquid Onyx survivor down. At least triple the normal dose if you want one of us out of it for an extended period of time. After all the experiments OI has subjected my body to, I have an evenhigher tolerance. For me to feel this shitty, they must have gone for a triple dose just to be safe.
It’s good tosee them finally displaying somesurvival instincts.I was beginning to think I'd been snapped up by amateurs. Or the FBI. Because fuck those unprofessional fucks.I've only beencaught by the FBI once, and that was more than enough.
They handcuffed me to a table.Handcuffed me. To a table. Was that table bolted down? Was it, fuck. Did they onlycuff one of my hands? Bet your arse they did.Might as well have bared their necks and given me a goddamn machete.
One of them attempted briberywitha Pepsi and smiled at me like I didn’t have her colleagues’ blood in my hair. Anotheronetalked about calling in child protection services. I was a twelve-year-old assassin who had just taken out a team of their agents.Child protectionservices. I laughed in her face. Mostly tostop myself from lunging for her throat.
I try to keep my breathing steady in an attempt to stop them from realising I’ve woken up. I can't feel anything sticking into or out of me, so they aren't monitoring my heart rate.
Thisplacesmells like soap and antiseptic and something else you only ever find in first-world hospitals. I'm probably not in a real hospital.FISA would have their own medical unit. I still hate it. Might hatebeing in anagency medical more than a real hospital.With OI, going to medical always meant needles and scalpels and random surgical scars that were never explained to me.
I have to bite down on my tonguewhen Dr Whoeverthefuck starts in with the touching. I don't handle touching very well. Even with. Even with Dan, it was hard. I don't know why. I'm not afraid of being hurt. Not anymore. Pain ebbs. It ends. Mostly. But I can't deny it bothers me. It might be I've gotten so used to touch meaning pain that anything else feels wrong. A gentle touch can be as effective as a warning strike when you're as attuned to violence as I am.
When they’re finished withthe standard checks, they move away.I douse the flicker of relief I feel in response to their retreat with cold, hard reality. I’m still trapped here, in this place, with no idea where I am or what my chances of escape are. I don’t even know if escaping would be worth the potential effort at this point. I don’t know anything.
But I’m used to that. Or I should be. OI isn’t big on sharing. We get told the bare minimum to do the job. Nine times out of ten, that doesn’t bother me. They give us a target, we kill it. The why is ultimately unimportant to something like me.
Another person comes to stand beside my medical bed. I can smell her perfume. Lilac. Expensive.
Director Snow.
"How is he?"Snow asks.
Despite my slightly lethargic state, I recognise the voice which answers her instantly.
"Fine,” Rohan Stone says in that mix-and-match, posh-boy accent of his. “No new injuries since he originally came in. This wasn't a physiological problem."
